Confessions Of A Lazy Gardener

          After eight years of neglect, the soil in my small garden has now been well amended. I grow things mostly from seed, and I have sunflowers, cucumbers, zinnias and marigolds coming up as I write. I put up a humble front concerning my six square meter plot, and that’s for good reason. You see, my gardening style could be called ‘laissez faire’, at best. ‘Half-assed’, even. I sure am using a lot of French for someone who doesn’t know a lick of French, but, as I said, I’m covering. At times, I refer to my small plot as “Jardin Ennui”. Or “Lazy Garden”. And, here’s another one: “Dirt Farm”.

           My thumb is green, but only as green as, say, Spock’s. A lighter shade of green. Suffice it to say I won’t be planting orchids anytime soon, or whatever it is that you do with orchids.

            The soil in that garden had been tapped for a few years, but I still got a good amount of cucumbers, and some tall sunflowers last summer. One reason being, there were no windstorms, which is a rarity. I save seed from my sunflower champions and use that the next year, and I also buy fresh seed. Also, sunflowers volunteer in March, all over the plot. The seeds come the bird feeder nearby, and they make for good plants! So, that is my first garden ritual of Spring. I weed and till the soil, leaving a few lucky winners from the sunflower volunteers. I’m no botanist. Wait. Of course I’m a botanist, to a degree, since I cultivate plants…

            Let’s just say that I’m a sad excuse for a botanist. I recognize two varieties of sunflower. The ‘Floppy’ variety, and the ‘Sturdy’ variety. A ‘floppy’ variety typically has multiple blossoms, and, if there’s a wind storm, they tend to ‘flop’. If left that way in nature, I’m sure they then grow like a ground vine, and lift the stalk back toward the sun as they continue to grow. It’s a different situation here, though, since the floppy variety flops over the sidewalk, blocking the path. Oh, no! People can’t use the walk. If I don’t get the sunflowers the hell out of the way, I may never be allowed to grow sunflowers again, and that would be a tragedy. So, when that happens, I get some tall stakes and, notably, twine, which is the main subject of this piece.

            I’ll get to that some time…

            I prop the floppy sunflowers back up.

            Then, there’s the ‘sturdy’ variety of sunflower, with less buds, or even just one flower. This term, ‘sturdy’, that I made up by myself for myself can be misleading. The ‘sturdy’ varieties don’t flop as often as the ‘floppy’ varieties flop, but they can, and they can also snap. This calls for splinting. It’s heartbreaking when a sturdy sunflower snaps, but I’ve had 50% success with splinting them. I won’t even describe the process, but it’s complicated, and involves a lot of twine.

            I’m getting to that, I swear.

            In the Fall, I clear the garden down to the soil, but I leave the sunflower stalks up so the sparrows can have something to light on over the winter. Because the ground is a risky place to be. There are seeds left on the old flowers, and the sparrows sit there and pick at them and act nonchalant.

            Last year, it became obvious to me that the soil needed amending. I wouldn’t have shown my garden to a soil scientist six months ago, that’s for sure. They would have crouched down in their lab coat, played with a handful of dirt, then kindly said:

            “How dare you let it come to this. We are seven blocks from the Mississippi, which has been rippling back and forth over this land eons before blocks were invented. This should be some of the richest soil in the world, and now I can only rate it somewhere between kitty litter and desert sand. I must go back to my lab now and weep, but before I leave, let me suggest that measures be taken. Wait. I have to take pictures for a textbook I’m writing. For the chapter titled: ‘Things To Avoid.’ Which gives me an idea. Stand there on that dirt and look sad. No, sadder…”

            Either way, some may be reading this with more disgust than amusement, and I understand. But, before anyone contacts the Garden Police, which I’m sure exists, I have to mention the extenuating circumstances that I have with Lazy Garden. You see, the garden is threatened, and not just by me.

            The garden sits above a defunct, four hundred square meter, one hundred and fifty year old cistern. There are some gaps in the sidewalk bordering two sides of the garden, which are points of ingress and egress for garter snakes and many other types of fauna.  Garter snakes are pretty cool. They’re rarely aggressive, and when you see one rear up, it’s at the height of summer, and you can be sure there is a nest with eggs or freshly hatched snakes right nearby. Usually, though, garter snakes just go their merry way, but, at times, seem curious. They pause, look, and seem to say: “What you doing? I was eating bugs. Well. Nice talking to you. Time to eat more bugs...”

            But, at any time, the new owners of the rental property may take appropriate measures with that cistern, and I wouldn’t blame them. I don’t know what that would entail, though. Digging the roof off, clearing the hole, then filling it with old shopping carts and tricycles? I have no idea. That’s why I’m a tenant, and not a property owner. Now you can see, though, that when I plant, it’s even more of an act of faith. Anything on top of that would have to go.

             Those first few years with the garden, as I would till the soil, I found myself bringing up bits of brick which make up the roof of the cistern. So, I stopped tilling so deep. It’s only a matter of time before it all caves in, and it’s more likely to happen when there is a load on the garden. And, it’s likely that that extra weight would be mine. I might fall as much as ten feet down to the floor of the cistern in that event. But, not to worry! The million or so waterbugs down there would cushion my fall. So, I would be alright physically...

            Maybe I should stop calling my garden ‘Lazy Garden’, and call it ‘The Sward Of Damocles’.

            Sometimes I’m out there in the garden with a flashlight while stray raindrops fall in the afterglow of a major evening storm, and with the sirens still warning everybody of what just happened, on top of a crumbling cistern built during the first Johnson presidency. I try to keep waterbugs from running up my pant cuffs while I straighten my precious sunflowers and fashion guy-wires with lengths of twine.

            Which is the main subject of my piece. Thank you for reading this far.

            During the pandemic and its aftermath, I plumb forgot to buy twine. And, it’s not like there was a shortage. There was a dearth of toilet paper and the collective intelligence of this nation, but not of twine.

            I forgot to buy twine multiple times, but, really, how would I know I’ve forgotten, and isn’t that the way one forgets? With each sunflower flopping and snapping event, I found myself without twine.

            “Where’s the twine? I forgot to buy twine again! I don’t know exactly when I forgot. I guess I should narrow it down to when I should have been remembering! When didn’t I remember?...”

            So, once I would get out of that loop of cerebral backfiring, I would just go to the store of yarn that I have in the lower drawer of a large wardrobe in my apartment. You might be thinking: “How Depression-era! He can’t bring himself to throw away yarn that he’s had for decades.”

            But, I must save the flowers. I need something stringy because the sunflowers have crashed. And, there the yarn is, ready to become colorful, festive guy-wires for the sunflowers just outside my door. (There’s no doubt who the culprit is.)

            The guywires run down to little stakes and the edging of the garden. Some summers, there’s a lot of string out there, and I like to think that my garden is impenetrable even for the craftiest of ‘possums. I run the cucumber vines up tomato cages, so, with the sunflowers up top, there’s a double canopy of large leaves. I’m the one who designed the garden, for lack of a better word, and even I find it hard to get in there. It becomes Adventureland for the neighborhood cats. Cucumbers text when they’re ripe. Of course I wonder what the neighbors think, though. If I don’t clean up my act, they may leave a note:

            “Dear Sunflower Hillbilly:

             We regret to inform you that the esthetic value of the small plot you cultivate has declined over the past few years. Your sunflowers have been the talk of the block, but, sadly, not all of that talk has been positive.Could you please simply purchase regular, standard twine for the guy wires which you fashion to prop up unfortunate sunflowers throughout the season? The yarn is, for lack of a kinder word, a blight on the neighborhood. Strands go every which way, and the earth tones don’t fool anyone. We’ve put up with your ratty-ass garden for years, and we’ve had enough. Please rectify the situation, or we’re calling Kojak.

                                                            Signed: All Your Neighbors And Their Dogs.”

            So.

            This is a story about remembering to buy twine. How exciting! Twine! No more yarn for me. I’d tie string around my finger to remind myself to get some, but isn’t the lack of it the problem in the first place?

            Twine has a million uses, and comes with such a responsibility. I think we can all agree, for example, that some people shouldn’t even be trusted with twine. One must develop particular skill sets to become twine-rated.

            When it comes to twine dynamics, I’ve found that things are more mysterious than they seem on the surface of things. Twine isn’t something that is purchased, or even given. Twine, of course, has a price, and is manufactured, but, ultimately, twine is bestowed. Twine comes with responsibility.

            There may even be Twine Fates that decide that twine will come fully into your life. When I procure my own ball of twine, the fates have decided that I am worthy, and life for me will go accordingly, even if it is something as simple as going to the hardware store and purchasing it. Only on rare occasions does twine fall from the sky, or come to rest on the shore of some creek just when somebody needs it. No, not for me. The fates will decide that I have achieved an intermediate level of competency with knot-tying, and will be confident that I won’t hang myself with it or eat it, and only then will they steer me to the hardware store with the required currency clutched in my hand, muttering ‘…twine…twine…’ under my breath.

            So, I must take this opportunity to thank the Fates, who someday soon will lead me to twine. Would it be that others had the same confidence in me.

 

            We are on your side,

            so we’re bestowing twine.

            Sisal is the least that we can do.

            Structure is insured,

            and, we’re not, we’re sure

            the only ones who worry about you.

           

            You’re finally at that stage

            where you can tie a handsome knot.

            But, don’t just go and waste

            the twine that you just got.

            Don’t stick it up your nose.

            Don’t give it to the cats.

            They may show an interest, but

            don’t give the kitties that.

            Remember, that with twine,

            you can’t do everything you please.

            Don’t smoke it like an old cliché,

            there are dispensaries.

            There are other simple rules

            that you already know.

            Don’t use the twine to instigate

            a violent overthrow.

            Don’t use your style of bunny-ears

            fashioning a bow.

            And, don’t put cans on either end,

            just use the telephone.

           

            We hope that you will mind

            the rules you should be minding.

            Keep in mind, for everytime,

            that twine is just for twining.